


Happenstance

by walkalittleline



Series: It Might be Fate [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Minor Injuries, this is just fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 06:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkalittleline/pseuds/walkalittleline
Summary: In his defense, it wasn’t really his fault. Sure he hadn’t been paying attention on his way down the crowded stairs to the platform, but how was he to know that the second step from the bottom was cracked down the middle, that his foot would slip and catch on the crack, his ankle twisting under him and sending him tumbling down the stairs to land in a heap at the bottom, his phone skidding across the concrete and his bag spilling its contents over the platform between the sea of legs of other morning commuters.





	Happenstance

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write something fluffy

In his defense, it wasn’t really his fault. Sure he hadn’t been paying attention on his way down the crowded stairs to the platform, but how was he to know that the second step from the bottom was cracked down the middle, that his foot would slip and catch on the crack, his ankle twisting under him and sending him tumbling down the stairs to land in a heap at the bottom, his phone skidding across the concrete and his bag spilling its contents over the platform between the sea of legs of other morning commuters.

“Dammit,” he mutters, hurrying to try and scoop his books back into his bag as people move around him, grumbling in annoyance at his interrupting the flow of foot traffic. He scoots forward on his knees to gather up a few loose slips of paper, trying not to think about how filthy the floor is as he shoves things haphazardly into his bag.

He glances around for his phone, panicking when he doesn’t see it where he’d watched it slide away from him. He crawls forward on his hands and knees, bending down to peer under the benches against the wall and ignoring the people jostling around him.

“Are you okay?”

He tries not to scoff at the question. _Fine_ , he wants to say sardonically, _I enjoy humiliating myself in front of strangers and sitting on a dirty floor._ His knees ache where they’d slammed into the concrete and his palms burn from dragging over it when he caught himself from smashing face first to the ground.

He looks up, recoiling a little from the tall figure looming over him, backlit by the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. He blinks a few times to force his eyes to adjust, squinting up into the concerned face staring down at him. He has to look almost straight up to meet the bright magenta eyes of the lanky firbolg as tall as he is.

Caleb looks him up and down curiously, quirking an eyebrow at the shock of bubblegum pink hair and loose tie-dyed t-shirt under his fringed cardigan.

“Sir? Are you okay?” he repeats, cocking his head to the side inquisitively.

“Fine,” Caleb mutters, turning away so he can search for his phone again. He stills when the firbolg holds it out to him.

“Oh, thank you,” he says, smiling stiffly and taking his phone. He turns it over in his hand and sighs in relief when it’s not broken. He shoves it into his pocket and pushes himself to his feet, disregarding the hand still outstretched towards him.

Pain lances up his right leg and he lets out a cry of pain as his ankle gives out under him, dropping back onto his knee and gritting his teeth.

“Fuck,” he grunts under his breath, wincing as he tries to put weight on his foot, only for his ankle to throb hot with pain again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“You’re hurt,” the firbolg says unhelpfully. Caleb forces himself not to roll his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, struggling to his feet and putting all his weight on his left leg. He stumbles a little and the firbolg moves to catch him around the waist with one arm, expression worried and apprehensive.

Caleb feels the tips of his ears warm at how close he is, discomfort prickling under his collar. He clears his throat awkwardly and tries to shrug out of his hold, nearly collapsing when he steps back on his right foot and sharp pain rockets up his leg.

“Stop,” the firbolg says, firm but gentle, keeping his grip on his middle. His voice is deep and pleasantly warm. “You’re going to make it worse.”

He sets Caleb up on his good leg, checking his balance before crouching down in front of him, facing away, and patting his shoulder.

“Hop on,” he says, glancing back at Caleb expectantly when he doesn’t move.

“Ah, no thank you, I’m fine,” Caleb says, shaking his head as he takes a limping step backwards.

The firbolg sighs and gives him a skeptical look, blinking solemnly.

“It’s either this or I carry you,” he says in that same unhurried voice. “So, I guess it’s up to you.”

Caleb gives him an incredulous look, receiving a benign smile in response as the firbolg pats his own shoulder again. Caleb sighs in resignation and hitches his bag onto his shoulder before hobbling forward and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, blushing furiously when he loops his long arms behind Caleb’s knees and straightens up into a standing position, lifting Caleb’s weight easily.

He carries him up the stairs back into the cool morning air, Caleb ducking his head to avoid the sign hanging down displaying the platform number over the entry. A few people give him curious looks as they pass on their way down to the subway and he slouches down into the collar of his coat to try and avoid them.

“Here we go,” the firbolg says when they reach the sidewalk, lowering Caleb down onto an unoccupied bench carefully. He turns to face him, still crouched down on his knee. He touches Caleb’s right foot gently and gives him a questioning look.

“Can I take this off?” he says, nodding to his shoe. “That ankle needs looked at.”

“I am fine,” Caleb mutters. “I can go to a doctor if I need to.”

“I am a doctor,” the firbolg says with a soft chuckle at Caleb’s look of disbelief. “Well, I’m a physical therapist. So maybe not a _real_ doctor, but I can help. Just let me take a look at it.”

Caleb heaves a sigh but nods reluctantly, wincing as the firbolg cradles his foot and loosens the laces of his shoe before slipping it off carefully. He slides his sock off and rolls his pant leg up a few times, tilting his head to the side as he examines Caleb’s ankle. It’s swollen and red, throbbing dully in time with his pulse.

The firbolg prods gently at the top of his foot with his thumb and glances up at him.

“Does that hurt?” he says.

“No,” Caleb replies.

The firbolg makes a soft, considering noise and touches another spot, grimacing apologetically when Caleb hisses in pain, gritting his teeth.

“Sorry,” the firbolg mutters. He sighs and goes back to looking over Caleb’s ankle. “Caduceus, by the way.”

“Hm?”

“Caduceus,” the firbolg says, smiling as he glances up at him. “My name.”

“Fitting,” Caleb mumbles, lips twitching up when Caduceus laughs. “Caleb.”

“Well, Mister Caleb,” Caduceus says, releasing his ankle and reaching for the satchel hanging at his side. “It doesn’t look broken, just a bad sprain. But I highly recommend having it looked it just in case.”

“By a _real_ doctor?” Caleb says, smirking when Caduceus chuckles quietly again.

“By a real doctor,” he echoes. “I am going to go ahead and wrap it, though. Help support it and keep the swelling down. And I’ll give you an ice pack too.”

Caleb watches with mild incredulity as he pulls a roll of neon pink athletic wrap from his bag along with a disposable ice pack.

“I was on my way to work,” Caduceus replies by way of explanation. “But it’s always a good idea to have onhand anyway. You never know.” He smiles warmly and Caleb feels something stutter in his chest, looking away and frowning at the warmth that creeps up the nape of his neck.

He glances back down when Caduceus begins deftly wrapping his ankle with practiced movements. He makes a satisfied noise when he’s finished, cracking the ice pack to activate it and holding it to his ankle, gripping his heel in his hand as he rips off a piece of tape from the roll with his teeth to attach the pack over the wrap.

“Try and keep it elevated if you can,” he says as he tosses the rest of the tape in his bag and pushes himself to his feet, dusting off his thighs absently. “And keep your weight off it.”

He holds his hand out towards him and Caleb accepts it this time, allowing Caduceus to pull him to his feet. He grimaces automatically when he puts weight on his right foot, surprised when it only aches dully rather than spiking pain up his leg.

“Better?” Caduceus says brightly, taking in his bewildered expression.

“Mm, _ja_ ,” Caleb mutters. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Caduceus gives him another broad, sunny smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. Caleb drops his hand when he realizes they’re still clasped together between them.

“Well, I should get going,” Caleb says gruffly, scooping up his shoe and sock and limping back towards the subway.

“Whoa, whoa, I don’t think so,” Caduceus says, stopping him with a hand on his arm and laughing in disbelief. “You’re not riding the subway in that condition.”

“I have to get to work,” Caleb replies, frowning, “so unless you’re going to carry me there, too.”

Caduceus chuckles and shakes his head.

“Hang on,” he says, pausing to make sure Caleb isn’t going to leave before stepping to the edge of the curb and raising his hand to hail an upcoming taxi. It stops at his side and Caleb thinks how useful it must be to be as conspicuous as he is for that sort of him.

Caduceus pulls open the door and strides back over to him, sliding his arm under Caleb’s armpits to support his weight and help him hobble towards the taxi

“Ah, wait,” Caleb protests weakly when Caduceus pulls out his wallet and tosses a few twenty dollar bills at the driver. “You do not have to do that.”

“Hm, yeah I do,” Caduceus says cryptically. He fishes through his wallet again and passes Caleb a business card before tucking his wallet back in his pocket.

Caleb glances down at it.

_Blooming Grove Physical Therapy_

_Caduceus Clay_

There’s a phone number and address printed under his name, a sprawling logo of a tree printed on the left side of the card against a pale green backdrop.

“If you need any help getting back on your feet,” Caduceus says when Caleb looks up at him curiously. “No pun intended. I can at least give you some pointers for stretches and that sort of thing. Range-of-motion exercises.” He shrugs, sliding his hands in his pockets and smiling good-naturedly.

“Oh, um, thank you,” Caleb mutters, slipping the card carefully into the zippered pocket of his bag. “I will let you know, I suppose.”

“I hope you will,” Caduceus says with a small, enigmatic smile. He nods to Caleb’s ankle. “Get it looked at, yeah?”

“I will,” Caleb promises. He hears the cab driver clear his throat impatiently and flinches. “I should get going. Thank you again, Mister Clay.”

“Happy to help,” Caduceus replies. “Nice to meet you, Caleb.”

“Mm, you as well.”

He helps Caleb get settled in the back of the cab, smiling as he shuts the door and steps back on the sidewalk, raising his hand in a wave as the car pulls away from the curb when Caleb gives the driver his work address. Caleb waves back briefly, turning in his seat to look over his shoulder to watch Caduceus stare after the cab for a few seconds before turning and walking back down the stairs to the subway platform.

Caleb faces forward again, clutching his bag to his chest and frowning. He unzips the side pocket and pulls out the card Caduceus had given him, turning it over in his fingers and chewing at his bottom lip in consideration. He sighs and stuffs the card back in his bag again, tapping his fingertips restlessly over the spot, forcing himself to look out the window for the remainder of the drive. He spends the rest of the day trying to forget the card is there, telling himself to toss it into the trash after he stops by the campus urgent care facility where they confirm he has a bad sprain but no broken bones.

It stays in his bag, though, and when he hobbles up the stairs to his apartment that evening, he lays it on his coffee table, Frumpkin curled in his lap and a beer held loosely in his hand as he frowns at the seemingly innocent piece of paper. He sighs and drags his fingers over his jaw indecisively.

Caduceus _had_ been flirting with him, hadn’t he? He’s never been very good with this sort of thing but he thinks surely that’s what was happening. Or maybe he was just very friendly. And tall. And undeniably handsome despite his casual attire that definitely didn’t give off the air of someone who frequented classrooms like Caleb did.

“This is stupid,” Caleb mutters, going to take a sip of his beer only to realize with a jolt it’s already empty. He sucks the back of his teeth and pushes himself carefully to his feet, snapping his fingers for Frumpkin to follow him back the hall to his bedroom. He leaves the card on the table. He can deal with it tomorrow.


End file.
